A Hundred More Years
by theblindtorpedo
Summary: One day Steve Carlsberg walks into the desert. One day Steve Carlsberg falls in love. One day Steve Carlsberg returns to Night Vale.
1. Chapter 1

One day Steve Carlsberg walks into the desert. He does not look back to see how far he has come, but he can hear the sounds of Night Vale the screeching, the low humming, the static rumbling and the low tones of Cecil Baldwin fading softly the farther he gets away. Then it is gone and he collapses into the sand, feeling his face convulse in emotion. This must be silence, he thinks to himself, the legendary silence his mother used to tell him about as a child. Not silence filled with existential crisis, not silence of terror, not government mandated deafness, not a haunting empty void, but simple lack of noise. He loves it.

Steve fists his hands in the dunes, letting the rocks run through his fingers, marveling at how they fall straight down. Single purpose, single outcome and he can feel tears well up in his eyes at the perfect simplicity.

He cannot believe it was so easy to get away. Two hundred and seven attempted suicides and they had condemned him to a hundred more years of life. He had stood before the entire government of Night Vale and they found him guilty. He had defended himself, but the incorporeal judges had hissed and spat at him and he had known it was useless. The Voice of Night Vale sat upon his pedestal, the glorified court reporter, shaking his head. Occasionally, Cecil would flinch as the acidic tears of Steve's mother had fallen from the ceiling and ruined his beautiful aluminum suit. Steve had reveled in the sweet karma, for he knew had it not been for Cecil's dedication to public safety he would not be on trial. Repeated purposeful death was a terrible example to our children, everyone had seen the posters. Cecil may have been doing his duty, but Steve resented that the only person who could see his intent had felt the need to turn him in when they knew he would suffer for it. Cecil had been the sole witness, his eyes flashing violet with omniscience while he testified, but also hung low with pity. When the verdict had come, Steve had tried to kill himself right there on the spot, digging his nails into his stomach, calling forth the great forces to grant him the strength to tear out his innards which spilled across the Coliseum floor in a bloody pulp. His father had come to his side then and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I am so sorry, oh great ones," his father had said, "My son can be terribly crude."

And as Steve passed out he knew his father was right. He had not disemboweled himself since he was a toddler and times were long past when it was considered acceptable. To simply die was not a crime, it was to do so with intent that lay the taboo, but Steve loved the blackness and the comfort of seeping nothingness. So he killed himself, but he was always alive again and in the godforsaken desert town and he could do nothing, but try to find another way to die and escape. When he was eventually arrested, pulled from his bathtub by the golems that made up the walls of the Coliseum, his father had demanded to know why his son was being taken. Steve did not regret his actions, but he could never forget the sickening shade of azure his father had turned when the words "death junkie" had materialized in front of their house.

In the end, most agreed the sentence had been lenient. He was still allowed to die, what a blessing his mother had cooed, only the time until his final death was extended. You had to earn final death, of course Steve you know that. Yet he had still gone home desolate and stared at himself naked in the mirror. He pinched at the flesh, watching it turn red. No sprawling symbols, only two eyes and humanoid arms. He had felt utterly useless. A body that could not even change form was no body at all. He had no prospects, no talents or skills, just a guaranteed hundred more years in a sack of meat and red blood and solid, unmoving skin. He had broken the mirror then and laid the pieces in a perfect decahedron on the floor and knelt and prayed to the higher deities that something might come to make life bearable.

He had thought Carlos was that gift. He first saw the man during his mandated visit to Big Rico's; the Scientist had walked by the window dragging a metal box behind him and Steve's jaw had dropped. He would have believed it to be another hallucination had not Cecil Baldwin himself confirmed that there was indeed a new man in town. Steve had hung around the lab, watching warily through windows, collecting notes on Carlos in his brain to later bleach into the walls of his bedroom. He had only one tongue that stuck out of his mouth while he concentrated. His hair was simple protein fibers. His hair grew only on his chin. And it seemed he no talent for transformation, in fact no ability to morph at all. Steve's heart had soared for finding another like him.

The day Carlos accepted Night Vale broke his heart. He had listened to the story of the scientist's bravery in jumping down into the underground city and his resurrection by that jerk the Apache Tracker. He had heard Cecil's heartbroken stifled sobs and felt for the reporter; no matter how he disliked him personally he could not ignore the emotion in the man's voice. He had felt joy in his heart upon hearing of Carlos' return, but it was soon doused by the turn of events near the end of the broadcast. Carlos loved Cecil Baldwin and Cecil Baldwin loved Carlos. Cecil Baldwin was Night Vale and thus Carlos loved Night Vale and there was no hope left for Steve Carlsberg. In the moment that he knew that Carlos the Scientist and Cecil Baldwin were staring up at the lights above Arby's Steve Carlsberg felt more alone than he had ever been.

ever been.

So he had walked out into the desert.


	2. Chapter 2

One day Steve Carlsberg falls in love.

Kevin R. Free is kissing him with hot lips. Tendrils of warmth flow out of the other man's mouth, curling around his face and it feels wonderful. He cannot remember the last time someone kissed him and when he tells Kevin this the other man laughs and strokes his face. Of course, he says, who knows what happened to you in Night Vale? I am so very sad for you. It must be awful to not be able to remember, but there is no need to dwell on the past dear Steve! You are here, in beautiful Desert Bluffs, with StrexCorp. And with me! This time Steve initiates the kiss and he thinks he must have kissed someone before for he seems to intuitively remember the right movements. Surely a novice would have been more awkward, confused and sloppy. A hand is brought to press against Kevin's chest and Steve notices he is even warmer the closer to his core one touches. Kevin burns literally like a flame. The pain sears at his hand and he watches the skin melt away upon contact and blood pool on Kevin's lap. He thinks of writing a thank you note to StrexCorp for the community distributed pain inhibitors. The night is cool and dark blue and Kevin is all confidence. He is in love with Kevin R. Free and he is in love with Desert Bluffs.

They move in together. There have been walks on the waterfront play space (although Steve wonders if it is terrible waste to pump water into a desert town for recreation, but Kevin assures him that it is all recycled to be as harmless to the planet as possible.) They adopt a dog, a StrexCorp laboratory reject named Scamp. He has no skin, but seems very happy. There has been kissing and cuddling and sex. Kevin is as wonderful in bed as he is at everything he does. Steve is always terribly burned after their lovemaking, but Kevin is gentle and loving as he nurses Steve back to health. StrexCorp medicine is amazing, but we can't have you dying on me. I'd be desolate. Steve agrees, he loves the pain, but he does not wish to die. He is blissfully happy. The residents of Desert Bluffs smile when they see the burn marks on his skin, the public baring of his dedication to Kevin and to their desert town. Steve Carlsberg may have come from Night Vale, but he is a Desert Bluffite through and through, they say. He will never leave. Steve can't help, but agree. He fits in so well. So he makes plans. He acquires a job, putting his writing skills to work as a columnist for the Desert Bluffs Daily paper. He has hopes for the future.

They fall into the rhythm of living together. In the mornings he and Kevin pick out who they should punish that day from the conveniently provided list of 'community betrayers' displayed on the StrexCorp electronic screen in each home. Kevin, ever dedicated to the public good, goes out hunting while Steve works on his articles and does the household chores. Around four o'clock Kevin returns. Standing triumphant in the doorway with a body slumped over his shoulder, draped with viscera and perhaps holding a dripping severed limb, Steve does not believe there can be anything more lovely. They eat a dinner Kevin makes from the carcass. The man is a wonder with a knife and Steve is awed by how well he can butcher, it is an intricate dance. No one can butcher better than Kevin, not even the town butcher.

Over the food they talk and the conversation is always interesting. Kevin knows everything about Desert Bluffs; StrexCorp sends the radio station all their surveillance footage from everywhere in town. Afterwards they may watch a little television or have sex or just sit outside on the porch and watch the children playing ball in the street, holding and hands and being content in each other's company. Kevin is due for his program by eight so they take Scamp with them as they walk to the station. Outside the building Kevin kisses him before he goes inside. Now alone, Steve may take Scamp to the dog park. There are always many people at the dog park, even this late at night. But at eight thirty all grow quiet as the Voice of Desert Bluffs begins his broadcast, cheerful utterances projecting out from the StrexCorp speakers that are installed in every room and on every street corner so the Voice of Desert Bluffs can be heard everywhere. It is always very informative and Steve can't help but feel proud.

Kevin does try to keep his personal life out of his broadcast, but on their anniversary he cannot help himself. I want you all to know why Steve Carlsberg is so great. We all love Desert Bluffs; we are brought up from cradle to grave to love our town. It is a crime to not love our town and StrexCorp knows that you are not taking your pills if you say do not love our town. But Steve was an outsider, that's right ladies and gentlemen he only started taking his pills less than a year ago. He had just come out of his coma then and we would not have known who he was if not for the Night Vale ID in his wallet. He was even suspicious of me back then, can you believe it? Yet, he could not help but become completely ensnared by the charms of our town. And while you may say 'who couldn't' we must still be proud of Steve for all the effort he has put into becoming a true member of our community. I love you. We love you. Kevin and Desert Bluffs love you, Steve Carlsberg.

According to the giant clock that adorns the StrexCorp headquarters in the town center it has now been two years since he and Kevin began their relationship. To Steve it feels no more than six months, but he must be wrong for the clock is always right. Don't worry, that's what happens when you're in love, his neighbors had said. After all, we trust in the clock, because StrexCorp has experts to make sure it is correct. Can you imagine what a terrible insult it would be to try and keep time by making your own timepiece? No, in our opinion if you did that the blinding you would receive would be well deserved. If you can't appreciate the luxury of time, which they work so very hard to make, you obviously don't deserve everything else StrexCorp gives us. And they have given us so much haven't they?

The second anniversary dinner is at Di Ricardo and Steve is flattered that Kevin is taking him to the fanciest Italian restaurant in town. While they wait for their meal, he fills Kevin in on his misgivings about the passage of time. I believe the StrexCorp clock is wrong, he begins to say, but the next sentence falters in his throat as he is interrupted by the flashing of Kevin's eyes. The usual black voids fill with a staggeringly hostile light. In seconds the change is over and Steve wonders if he dreamt it, because Kevin is smiling. Dearest Steve you must be mistaken. Trust in StrexCorp. Trust in me. Tell me you trust in us? Steve nods. If he said yes then he would be lying. Someone long ago told him he should never lie. He wonders if it was his mother. He must have had a mother, back in Night Vale.

Night Vale.

The name haunts him as he lays awake that night. He wonders if Kevin can hear his thoughts.

The next day they take their pills in the morning in full view of the camera, like always. Steve watches as Kevin changes into his best invisibility suit and straps his favorite machete to his back. Nothing beats a clean kill, he'd say, it's very humane. Kevin kisses Steve quickly before he leaves and the pills he has hidden under his tongue instead of swallowing are lumps of guilt and chemicals. The door clangs shut and Scamp paws at Steve's leg. He sits down in the chair and draws the dog onto his lap, eyeing the cameras in the living room warily. Scamp climbs up his chest and licks his mouth affectionately and Steve makes his move. The pills slide into the dog's mouth. Good dog.

He is hit with a flash of memory. There is a kitchen table and a woman with folded wings and grey skin stands behind it. She looks down at a piece of paper in her hands. Oh, darling it's beautiful. You know I think we're going to put it on the fridge for everybody to see! She licks the edge of the page and presses it against the refrigerator. The paper is burnt at the top, reading out 'I like Night Vale because . . .' Underneath, smeared coffee grounds having left prints on the page, is a picture of an all seeing eye and the words 'because it is my home, Steven Carlsberg, grade 1.'

The next day he gives his pills to Scamp again. The dog is lethargic and Kevin says something about taking him to the vet, but Steve is lost in another memory. A high school house party, festooned with festive Tesla coils. Outside he can hear the weather, a female vocalist rapping. He always preferred when the weather was instrumental; it was less distracting. But he likes her voice and he leans back against the wall, trying to grasp the lyrics over the howling of the music inside. They are in a language other than English and it reminds him that he still has two chapters in his Sumerian textbook to read. He smiles, knowing he is top in his class. Even without omniscience he is the brightest student in all of Night Vale. Steve Carlsberg has a good life and it occurs to him that he should celebrate it. He looks around and sees a girl standing shyly next to him; her leathery skin looks nice to the touch. So, he asks her to dance. She giggles and accepts. An hour later and he has his first real kiss. He knows he has never felt so alive in all his life than that moment with a nubile, cold body against him, the hot desert air on his neck, the spark of blue electricity over the walls and the faint beat of the weather outside.

He thinks he might cry when his mind returns to relative emptiness of his beige stucco house.

A pattern begins to form, for every pill he does not swallow a new memory is opened. He wants to drown in these memories and their vibrancy, the colors, the sounds. He had killed himself, he remembers, and now he wonders how he could have loved darkness so much when life had been filled with love and excitement and wonder.

He can't concentrate on Kevin's broadcasts anymore. Threads of Night Vale keep seeping into his mind: glow clouds, feral dogs, angels, lights above the Arby's. The moonlit flights upon his mothers back and looking down to see the crop circles in John Peter's imaginary cornfields. The first year he was allowed to go out alone with his friends where they hid from street cleaners in the old bloodstone factory. Climbing the invisible Clock Tower and feeling the crackle of lightning in your skin. Big Rico. Leann Hart. The City Council. Mayor Winchell. Teddy Williams. Earl Harlan and his torch for . . . Kevin? Kevin is not part of Night Vale. No, Cecil. He remembers a smooth, sonorous voice that does not come out of speakers, but floats through the air, invading one's very core. Cecil Baldwin. He hated him once. But now Steve Carlsberg thinks he would like to see the Voice of Night Vale again.

He begins to neglect his writing. He keeps his eyes closed as often as he can, so the images may play behind his eyelids. He feels his heart sink with disappointment as no thrilling fear comes into him from just walking down the street. He twitches often, instinctively wanting to run from some terror that does not exist here. Are you sick? Kevin asks. You seem manic. Should I call a doctor? Steve doesn't have the heart to tell him his discovery. He knows StrexCorp's pills kept these memories away. He undersands why, Night Vale is dangerous, but he knows he is part of it. He does not want StrexCorp anymore, but StrexCorp is Desert Bluffs. Steve knows he cannot stay here just as he knows Kevin could never leave. Kevin loves Desert Bluffs so very much. Kevin is Desert Bluffs and he, in his simple unremarkable humanoid body, is just as integral part of Night Vale as Hiram McDaniels, the five headed dragon. his unremarkableness was what made him remarkable among the varied residents of his hometown. There was no one exactly like him. That was the reason for his punishment, for not valuing his contribution to the diversity, in body and mind, of the community. Night Vale needed him and now Night Vale misses him.

So, with a heavy heart, one day he walks out into the desert. No one stops him. The StrexCorp employees that guard the road to the gate bow as he passes. We are sorry to see you go, Mr. Carlsberg. You know you may not ever return, Mr. Carlsberg.

Yes, I know.

He keeps walking. Behind him he hears a voice, the last sound he hears before he steps beyond the gate.

Goodbye, Steve Carlsberg. Goodbye from Desert Bluffs.

Goodbye, Kevin.

So Steve Carlsberg walked away from the one time he ever fell in love.


	3. Chapter 3

One day Steve returns to Night Vale.

He does not know how long he has been walking, but his legs ache and he has consumed most of his water. His stomach hurts and the sun has set. A breeze stirs the twilight air, reminding him how if he does not find shelter he will freeze in the night.

Then he sees the fog, hovering grey in the distance. His legs move faster and as he approaches he can feel a sizzling on his skin that is not heat, but some form of cool energy. He enters the fog and should not be able to see, it looked so dense from afar, but he can make out the outlines of buildings and lights behind windows and sparks floating up from some far off fire and eerie columns of fluorescence hovering in the sky. And it is like his ears have suddenly been turned on there is so much noise, humming and sputtering and creaking and wailing. He sees a street begin ahead of him and trudges forward. There are figures on the edge of the road. Their shadows fall upon the small dunes, distorted into freakishly and disproportionately limbed figures. Two of the figures' shadows are waltzing to a nonexistent beat while their owners remain menacingly still, but Steve is not perturbed by this. And as his reaches where the pavement begins he turns onto the road and sees it. His car sits right where he left it, six months to maybe two years ago.

The Corolla does not look abandoned. The hubcaps are still missing, but someone has washed it. It purrs as he approaches and arches against his touch as he strokes its hood. Happy to see you too, he says and opens the door. He sits down and leans his head against the headrest, succumbing to exhaustion. He might have fallen asleep right then if not for the radio.

. . . Welcome to Night Vale . . .

Well, Cecil, he says aloud, I'm back whether you like it or not.

After that he sits still and simply listens to the news. The Sheriff's Secret Police are reissuing all permits in tasteful chartreuse paisley. Local businesses are generously pooling donations for construction of a trans-dimensional port. Steve wonders if he might visit Earl Harlan once the port is built. He had been friends with the Scoutmaster before his disappearance and Steve considers it would do him a great deal of good to try and be more social this time. Perhaps they can go to the upcoming concert by the Night Vale Symphony orchestra who are playing the (so Cecil's heard) very difficult three hour opera: Troubleshooting my iPhone.

Steve knows in his cynical mind that all the stories are ludicrous. Yet he can't bring himself to care as he drowns in their comforting familiarity.

. . .Traffic news now. And it seems Steve Carlsberg has returned from his sabbatical. He has been sighted on the edge of town, sitting in his car. Yes, the tan Corolla. What an eyesore. And it seems he is not even driving! Just sitting there! I mean, who does that? Now listeners I am not myself a fan of turning the rumor mill, but I couldn't help hearing through the grapevine that Steve has been spending his long absence in Desert Bluffs. What a horrendous betrayal – wait . . . I'm sorry, listeners, Carlos is looking at me with just a splendid expression of aggravation. What's the matter, darling?

Cecil, you always say you try to be as truthful as possible. So, don't you think you're being a bit, ehm, rude?

I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.

There is a pause which Steve can only guess is filled by a glaring contest between the Voice of Night Vale and his scientist boyfriend. And it seems Carlos wins.

Oh, well, Cecil concedes, I suppose . . . it is nice to have him back. There, I said it. It's not like I've been moping for the past half a year about some terrible void in myself and just an hour ago I suddenly felt whole again. Nothing like that. Anyways, now everything can get back to normal, right folks? Night Vale is complete. Steve Carlsberg is back and we can all get on with our lives. Not that it mattered that he was gone in the first place.

And now, the weather.

The music starts up and Steve can't help himself: he starts laughing. The laugh is wild, shaking his whole body. He is thankful for Carlos the Scientist; it is nice to hear Cecil be put in his place. Steve also feels a pleasant affection for the Voice of Night Vale seep through him. He is touched that underneath the prickly dislike, Cecil did miss him. It solidifies his resolve and he whistles the right five notes that start his car and proceeds to drive into town. By the time the broadcast ends he has reached Grove Park.

He is not expecting a welcoming party. Approaching the mass of people, he brakes the car and gingerly steps out. Hey, he says, tentatively. No answer. They are all looking at him, but no one moves forward. He stares back, wondering whether it is really he they are waiting for, but then a clatter of footsteps distracts him. He turns to see Cecil Baldwin running down the street with Carlos keeping an easy stride behind him. The Voice of Night Vale stops in front of him, struggling to catch his breath, and mutters something about back to back scheduling before clearing his throat and looking Steve in the eye. Cecil extends his arms, as if awaiting an embrace. The action is serious and ceremonial. Steve can see that those capable of facial movement are smiling, encouraging him to walk forward. He realizes that he must do this, accepting Cecil is the ultimate reconciliation, but Steve also feels a roiling sense of confusion in his stomach. He used to hate Cecil for what he stood for. And Cecil hated him for his rejection of Night Vale. But now he wants to run into those arms which symbolize much more than the physical boundaries of one man. Yet he also wants to never have to touch Cecil Baldwin ever in his life, because it would be terribly familiar. In Cecil's every movement he can sees echoes of Kevin and the lost Desert Bluffs. He wonders how two towns and two people can be so similar and so absolutely different.

Cecil notes his reticence and lowers his arms. Steve's discomfort starts to dissipate as he feels another laugh bubbling up inside him, because Cecil looks as petulant as five year old child. Ah, Cecil still does hate him. Did you miss me? he provokes and Cecil blushes violently which makes him laugh all the harder and he grabs the man around the shoulders and hugs him. No, I absolutely did not miss you, Cecil muffles into his shoulder, and I cannot believe you left us for Desert Bluffs of all places! I'm glad to see you finally saw sense, but I don't think I can ever forgive you.

Then you may hate me for not being able to ever fully belong and I may hate you for sharing the face of the first real love of my life and we shall call it even, Steve says as he steps back, cradling Cecil's face in his hands. He thinks he could stay like that forever, it is so very intoxicating, until he hears Carlos shuffling uncomfortably from behind Cecil's back. The scientist's eyes are averted, but his fingers are frantically buttoning and unbuttoning the top of his shirt and Steve realizes that his manhandling of the scientist's boyfriend may be rather awkward for everyone else. His grip loosens and he releases a dazed Cecil to collapse against a startled Carlos. He watches as their hands instinctively entwine and as the two steady themselves against each other he is filled with tenderness towards them.

It seems that is the cue for the rest of the populace to descend. Suddenly he is surrounded by a whirr of bodies all clutching and speaking, but he ends up with his mother smothering him against her chest and he has to tell her to stop crying or she'll accidentally kill him and wouldn't that be a terrible way to begin his new life. His father is hovering a few feet above the ground; skin flushed a deep royal blue of pride. Diane Creighton says she's been keeping his Corolla in her garage, because she just knew he was going to come back someday and of course he'll need his car. Her scrying stone had told her he'd return today so she had personally driven it out to the edge of town for him to find. She asks if he'll be returning to the PTA meetings, despite having no offspring of his own, because it is quite a wonderful display of civic dedication. The Sheriff's Secret Police are busy wrapping Night Vale Resident Reentry forms into elaborate origami which are then shoved into his pants pockets. Tristan Cortez asks if he'll be able to help with the new gardening initiative he's working on. He's discovered that the mutant sewer octopi have feces with intense fertilization properties. Carlos pulls Steve aside to earnestly ask him if he knows anything about the passage of time outside Night Vale. They make a –purely professional, they have to emphatically tell Cecil—appointment to discuss it in a week's time over milkshakes at the Moonlight Diner. Steve will be very busy.

Two months later he is sitting on the bleachers at the Night Vale v Desert Bluffs football playoff. He had honestly enjoyed helping the kids train (Coach Nasir al-Mujahid had begged him to since without the help of divine intervention the Scorpions barely knew how to even play the game), but he could not lie to himself that he was chasing the last connection to Desert Bluffs. This would be the last test of his self control.

The Desert Bluff players materialize on the field and the game starts. He cheers, he boos and he makes all the right sounds when appropriate. Night Vale, Night Vale! he chants, but his eyes scan the crowd until he spots him. Kevin. He is sitting alone so Steve climbs down and sits next to him. Kevin does not look at him, his eyes are slightly glazed, but he is smiling. His lips are pulled tight across his teeth and Steve wonders if his smile always looked like that, so grotesque. Hello, Steve whispers and he can barely say the one word he is so nervous. Why hello there friend! Are you enjoying this game – Kevin's head swivels and for a moment his expression falters, smile falling and eyes growing wide. That's when Steve kisses him, but Kevin gasps against him and Steve pulls away to see the first face is back. I've never been to Night Vale, Kevin says, the kiss completely lost in his mind, you are all so friendly! What's your name? Steve can't answer right away; he is looking at the ground, blinking away a few tears. He hadn't had high hopes, he won't let himself have the luxury of full disappointment. Finally he turns back and in the calmest voice he can muster says, I'm Steve. Carlsberg.

That's a very fine name. Have I heard it before . . . oh you're the one who sent the email back during the sandstorm! You something naggling at the back of my head told me I should come today and I guess this was it, I get to meet you! I'm glad you're the first person I've met here. I just knew we'd get along when I read your email. To be honest, I'm terribly shy sometimes, but once I get to know people I find I do like everybody! And you are very nice. Tell me about all these people! Kevin waves a hand across the residents of Night Vale. So Steve does and it is a full half hour of storytelling before they reach the two huddled underneath the orange tree further out from the field.

That's Cecil Baldwin and Carlos the Scientist.

Oh, yes. He's my double, Kevin nods, I remember him.

He is nothing like you.

Kevin is a bit taken aback by Steve's hostility, but he passes over it. And Carlos is . . .? His boyfriend, Steve supplies in warmer tones. They fall silent and watch the two for a bit. Carlos is pointing at the ground and saying something that makes Cecil laugh, leaning against his shoulder. Cecil has one finger curling around Carlos' hair, Carlos' arm is around Cecil's waist. They are staring into their partner's eyes in utter adoration. Steve thinks that if he asked either of them on the details of the game they would not be able to come up with anything they are so absorbed with each other. They are very much in love, Kevin observes, how refreshing. I wish I loved someone as much as they do. But I will eventually right? If Cecil's my double there should be double Carlos. I just have to find him. I hope I do soon.

That's when Steve realizes.

A new man came into town today . . . the same words, two towns, the beginning of two pairs of lovers.

In Night Vale he walked in with a team of scientists, but in Desert Bluffs he was found in a coma on the edge of town. Steve is struck mute by his discovery and first he pats his chest, looks down at his skin and back at Carlos. They don't look that similar, he thinks, but he remembers that the Desert Bluffs dopplegangers were different, from what he remembers Kevin saying. Pablo Mitchell and Pamela Winchell had looked completely different after all. He looks back at Kevin who is so sorrowfully hopeful. Steve knows he has already found and lost his Carlos. Desert Bluffs is a terrible, terrible place.

Maybe you . . . maybe you already have. Found him, that is. Oh no, Kevin replies all superficial smile, I'd know. I'd definitely remember.

Steve has to excuse himself before he starts openly crying. But I'll see you next game right, Kevin asks. Yes, definitely, yes, Steve says, because he can't let go of Kevin now. He can't be his lover, this he knows, but perhaps they can start something new, something different. He offers a wobbly smile. Steve will let himself feel sorrow, because that is the healthy thing to do, but he thinks this might not be so bad. He can have Night Vale and still keep part of Kevin, if not the memories deleted by StrexCrop, at least the man himself. Perhaps they can become friends.

Steve goes home and takes a nap. When he awakes the pain of Kevin is gone, but the soft memory of his face remains. Even with the grotesque smile and void eyes, Steve thinks Kevin is beautiful. He heads down to the bar and without ordering is handed a smoking carafe. Although he can find no liquid he pours it down his throat and it burns warmly. The bar is not that filled. He spots Nick Ford, still wearing his plaid work suit, alone at a booth and he thinks on how he used to attend to PTA meetings just to see the handsome superintendent stand menacingly in the corner. Then, he looks back at his drink and thinks about the hundred more years of life left to him and makes his resolve. Might as well do something with them. So he throws back the remainder, slams he carafe down onto the counter, slides off his stool and saunters over to Nick's booth. Can I buy you a drink, he asks in the smoothest tones he can muster. Nick looks adorably flattered, but Steve is not expecting the next words out of his mouth, I'm so sorry, Steve, I'm already with someone.

The air on the other side of the booth starts to darken and suddenly a very embarrassed Trish Hidges is sitting at the table. He's never had much interaction with the Mayor's assistant before, but there is always time to try something new. So he grins amiably to put them at ease. Well, may I buy you both a drink then? They are surprised at his boldness, but Trish does slide down for him to sit next to her, a coy smile on her bright white lips.

Hours later when they are lying on the grass in Grove Park and Trish's breath is on his neck and Nick's hand is clutched in his and he can hear Cecil moaning wantonly from behind some nearby tree and the feral dogs (plastic bags, Trish whispers) are growling and the lights above Arby's shine dimly upon their faces, he is perfectly content. He thinks he may stay like this forever, because this is where he truly belongs. And when a circular portal opens up above and drops a twenty foot chimera down, and they are running for their lives he feels vibrant and pulsing and complete. The fear is another part of life. There is no fear in death. How boring death must be.

Sometimes, when it all becomes too much he may walk out into the desert and sit in the sand for a few hours. But he will always come back to the wildness and wonderfulness of that desert town. Because in the end Steve Carlsberg will always return to Night Vale.


End file.
